Some say the world is black and white.
Some say the world is grey.
Which is the truth? Which a perspective?
Or is truth itself just a perspective?
To him the world was white and black,
The greys he’d announced as sins,
To empathise with others he’d given up,
Sympathies he wanted abound.
He stared from a distance the lives others lived,
He announced harsh judgements about them,
Little wondering that while he pointed fingers at them,
It said a lot about him.
Always assuming he was on the right,
Pious he thought himself to be,
Faced with the woman who stole for a hungry child,
He failed to pronounce her to be a thief.
Memories of his hard childhood rushed back,
He recalled his mother in the woman,
Ashamed of how cold he himself had become,
He brought the duo back home with him.
The next morning, he found the child asleep,
The woman no longer to be seen,
His world of whites and blacks ripped apart,
The greys in fifty shades stared through at him.